Top Five

Despite being marketed as an anti-war novel, I’ve never viewed Slaughterhouse-Five as such. While it is certainly reminiscent of many precedent anti-war novels, it doesn’t preach that peace is something that’s actually attainable by humanity. This is precisely why I enjoy Slaughterhouse-Five so much; the book views the actions of humanity from a point of view that’s rarely been so thoroughly described. The distinct writing style, copious amount of well-constructed figurative language, and the portrayal of aliens  also support the overall message that Vonnegut illustrates in order to make Slaughterhouse-Five a novel that’s hard to set down. It certainly isn’t to say that there’s no plot to Slaughterhouse-Five, though; in my personal experience, however, the plot (which was, by all means, very compelling and well-done) came secondary to Vonnegut’s writing and message, which I found to be beyond profound. The novel will appeal most to those who are seeking a unique and creative taste on philosophy, as well as those looking to explore the darker corners of the human mind.

Fight Club is a strange blend. There are two distinct sides to this novel: the side adrenalin-filled, thriller side that appeals to those in search of a plot with no shortage of brutality and action, and the more prominent, deeper side that explores themes of unfulfillment, contemporary social class-based issues, the concept of immortality, and many others issues that plague the common American man. The book will appeal primarily to those who enjoy either of these things.

 The plot of Fight Club follows who we’re led to believe is “Jack”, and his journey through schizophrenia and the impact he leaves on earth, for better or worse. What I personally found most appealing about Fight Club was the characters. The banter between the protagonist and Tyler, the contrasting interactions between Marla and Tyler compared to Marla and the protagonist, and many other distinct personas make you almost want to believe that these people exist, despite the many morally reprehensible crimes that they commit on a casual basis.

               

1984 is responsible for spawning a huge impact on popular culture even to this day. Whether you’re aware of it or not, you’ve heard plenty of references to Orwell’s literary masterpiece. “Oppression” is the strongest theme in Orwell’s 1984, which brought the dystopian genre to mainstream attention at the time. Following the story of Winston, 1984 describes the life of an average man living in a totalitarian society, detailing the events that led up to the most significant time of Winston’s life, and the events afterward. The most common criticism of 1984, that I’ve observed, regards the love story that occurs towards the middle and latter parts of 1984, and how they felt out of place to some. To me, these chapters were the most profound of the entire novel; there was more characterization in how excited the sight of a woman in high-heels would make the oppressed Winston than in any of the prior chapters. This is only one example of many of the scenes that made Winston’s life story feel so personal and deep to me, which seems to often be overlooked in favor of the more obvious examples of oppression that Orwell describes. This book is must read for any fans of dystopian novels like Brave New World.

Yet another novel of Orwell, Animal Farm contains many similar themes to 1984. While failing to reach the same level of popularity, Animal Farm is still considered to be a profound piece of literature, that’s ideal for those familiar or interested in the history of the Soviet Union and the Cold War. The novel takes place over a long period of time, detailing a farm’s transformation from a human-run “labor” camp, into an animal-run community after a powerful revolution, and the decay of this new “perfect” society afterward. Like 1894, Animal Farm is focused around politics and society, and while 1984 describes life in an oppressed society, Animal Farm describes the transformation into one. With every character in the novel used as an allegory for a figure from the history of the Soviet Union, Animal Farm stands out for its innovative take  on government, ranging from everything from the fact that talking animals run the community, to the methods of censorship the governing figures use to their advantage. There’s nothing else like it out there.

A must read for any individual seeking a career in journalism, or any who hold even a mild interest in the counter-culture of the 60s and the narcotics craze surrounding it. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is unconventional by every definition of the word; there are no heroes or villains, merely different shades of grays, and different personalities depending on what substance a character has taken. Raoul Duke and Dr. Gonzo, travel throughout Las Vegas as a journalist and his attorney in search of the American dream, modeled closely after some of the actual experiences of the author, Hunter S. Thompson, and his attorney. As the man credited with the invention of “Gonzo journalism”, i.e. journalism with heavy emphasis on personal feelings and individual experiences, Fear and Loathing brings his style of writing to a new high with its many vivid and memorable descriptions of life through the eyes of an unstable reporter suffering from terminal psychosis as the result of heavy drug use. What sets Fear and Loathing apart from anything else I’ve read, is that it is completely shameless in its approach to the subject matter; there’s no shortage of excessive substance abuse, and Thompson strongly gives the impression that he knows exactly what he’s writing about during every sequence through this trippy journey, dominated by allusions to the culture of the 60s that will be sure to please anyone even remotely familiar with this time period. 

Project #1 - Kurt Vonnegut's intentions with Slaughterhouse-Five and Billy Pilgrim

Enjoying Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five is easy; trying to make complete sense of it, however, is a much more arduous task. Laden with idiosyncratic humor, supernatural occurrences, and many intentionally incoherent plot devices, the novel is very ambiguous in nature, and Vonnegut has made it clear that his writing style isn’t limited by logic. There’s underlying significance to nearly every sentence that Vonnegut has crafted, who also strongly gives the impression that he’s not only writing this to entertain reader with compelling narrative and prose, but is also trying to illustrate a point about humanity and war.

 The novel is a strange mix of both fiction and fact, and is told from the prospective of two different protagonists—Billy Pilgrim, allegedly based off of Vonnegut’s real life comrade-in-arms Edward Crone, and an omniscient being that we’re led to believe is Vonnegut himself. The story is predominantly told from an omniscient third-person view, following the plight of Billy Pilgrim, who is, as described by the author, “stuck in time”. Billy is not bound by the natural, linear order of time; his life is experienced in an inconsistent order, where he jumps seamlessly through random periods in his life. This structure one of many devices that make Slaughterhouse-Five such a distinct and unconventional novel, but is also one of many devices that make Slaughterhouse-Five a difficult novel to clearly and easily follow.

If one were to compile every event in Billy’s life that is detailed in the novel and organize it into an orderly timeline, the first event to be listed would be his birth, which occurs on the fourth of July. Billy’s childhood is seldom discussed; we’re given only one scene, where a young Billy is dragged against his will to a body of water and forced to swim. This is Billy’s first recorded traumatic incident, which concludes with a terse note detailing the emotions of resentment Billy began to feel towards all things with a pulse.

Fast-forward a few years, and Billy is drafted into World War II. Billy’s experiences in World War II are regarded by many as the “focal point” of the novel for many reasons. Billy Pilgrim is a peculiar case; he walks with a strange gait, he is thin and consists solely of bone and sinew, he does not carry a weapon, he’s a “Joe College” as described by a fellow soldier, and he was assigned to be the assistant of a chaplain; “All the real soldiers are dead,” one woman comments to him. This is where, more or less, the story of Billy Pilgrim begins.

Billy is separated from the rest of the Allies, stuck behind enemy lines with three fellow soldiers. We’re introduced to who Billy is at this point in his life, as well as a bit of the reasoning behind his odd mannerisms. We’re told that this laconic and apathetic individual, who staggered a warzone looking for some mercifully jagged edge to fall on; who insisted time and time again to go on without him, will eventually learn the meaning of life.

These chapters are clearly the most emotional and powerful sections of the entire novel. Slaughterhouse-Five is marketed as a book that protests war; and while plenty of the book may take place outside of this kind of conflict, these chapters, which are spread unevenly throughout the entire course of the book, relate significantly to many of the later events in Billy’s life. This is also where some of Vonnegut’s first-hand experiences with war come into play; to reiterate, Billy Pilgrim is based off of one of Vonnegut’s former comrade in arms, who he shared time as a POW with.

Majority of the World War II scenes in Slaughterhouse-Five take place in various sites of captivity, which is where Vonnegut’s personal experience comes in. The POW scenes never feel contrived or stilted, because Vonnegut is fraught with first-hand knowledge of the events surrounding the bombing of Dresden, as well as living in a POW camp; scenes flow incredibly smoothly during these portions of the book because of this.

The fire-bombing of Dresden is where the WWII portion of Billy’s life officially culminates, which is arguably the most significant event in the entire novel, contested only by Billy’s interactions with the aliens who abducted him. Throughout Billy’s life, he was subject to being caught in numerous grim events, but none were more devastating than the bombing of Dresden, which Vonnegut was also caught in. Billy’s initial apathy towards this catastrophe and his response afterward serve to solidify much of the earlier characterization that Vonnegut has established for Billy.

The war ends shortly afterward, and Billy returns home to finish optometry school. The events afterward aren’t so much about Billy as they are about humanity in general. Vonnegut has a tendency to use Billy as a figurative object to illustrate his logic about many topics, which makes it hard to label Slaughterhouse-Five as a traditional narrative. Billy gets married, has children, grows a penchant for science fiction, creates his own optometry firm, and meets his favorite author amongst other things; however, these events aren’t written to tell the story of Billy Pilgrim, they instead act as underlying metaphors that entertain readers with their unique delivery and message. 

Eventually, Billy becomes the victim of another disaster. He’s the sole survivor of a plane crash, and is transported to a hospital where his wife dies while speeding to visit him. It is shortly after this that Billy decides he was abducted by aliens, an event which is presented as though it clearly had occurred, but Billy has kept quiet until after he suffers powerful head trauma during a plane crash. The novel begins to part ways with realism in favor of mixing elements of sci-fi with abstract poetry, in the form of how vividly the culture of the aliens is described.  

Billy runs to New York to tell the world about the message that the aliens have given him, about what it means to exist and the true nature of time. Despite his daughter and several others disapproving of these actions, the world begins to eventually acknowledge that Billy has figured out the meaning of life. Billy goes on to become a very successful public speaker who speaks of the things he’s learned from the aliens who abducted him, and is then assassinated by a hitman working for a soldier that he earned the scorn of when they were imprisoned together. Billy is aware that he is about to be killed, and urges his listeners not to be sad about his passing either; if they were sad because of this, then they would not have understood anything he was preaching.

None of this really matters. Slaughterhouse-Five isn’t meant to be viewed from a chronological point of view, because it isn’t a novel that tells the story of only one protagonist. It blends elements of both prose and free-verse poetry, in that we witness the clear development of a character, but we’re urged to contemplate the message that Vonnegut is outlining with every scene revolving around Billy. These messages range from topics like mortality to the meaning of life, and are often intentionally confusing; Vonnegut states that “there’s nothing intelligent about a massacre.” It’s difficult to place Slaughterhouse-Five into a single genre because of this, but I’ve grown to acknowledge it as a very uniquely written essay or an extended piece of poetry.

We’re meant to discern Vonnegut’s logic from every mention of Edgar Derby’s impending doom, every “so it goes” statement, and every piece of figurative language; this is the point of Slaughterhouse-Five’s existence. This is mostly reminiscent of what an essay or a poem will aim to do, and the same amount of scrutiny is meant to be applied to this novel as well. For these reasons, I’ve drawn the conclusion that Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, despite the timeline that I’ve just laid out, despite the progression of Billy Pilgrim’s physical being, and despite what it is labeled by the publishing company as, is a poem.   

Reflection 7

The appeal of a memoir is that every event described within the text actually occurred. There’s no way to justify the fabrication or altering of any event, no matter how minute the impact may be. The distinction between nonfiction and fiction isn’t flexible, and is relatively limpid compared to the dictations of most other genres. A book is a piece of nonfiction if the events described are factual, not if only most are true.

                In the case of memoirs, people expect to be told a tale from the first-hand prospective of the author. While other pieces of nonfiction may rely on accounts from various individuals, because the events may be somewhat unclear, memoirs are without this burden because the story is told from the prospective of the same person who experienced these events directly; people expect the truth because of this. Omitting the absolute truth, for whatever reason one may conjure up, abolishes the book’s status as someone’s memoir. People read fiction if they want to read about events that were specifically crafted out of nothing that characters experienced, and people read memoirs to read about factual events that a real person experienced.

Reflection 6

                Over the years, I’ve found genre to be a taste that’s regarded almost subconsciously in my case. I’ve never felt any feelings of distinct or tangible attraction towards any genre or subgenre, but instead I’ve observed that I tend to feel more motivation to read the next page when I take a sincere interest in the protagonist. Whether or not the protagonist lives on a space station, in a castle, or in the slums is irrelevant to me, so long as I care about what happens next to him.

                There are a few traits that I look for in characters. I abhor the stereotypical “heroic” character, because I find that if I can’t bring myself to actually believe they would survive what just happens, then the value of the character has deteriorated; I’m not one to suspend my disbelief. This also includes all “chosen one” characters; that being said, I approve of characters who adhere to the credentials of an “Average Joe”. I like to read about a character who can get beat down, who doesn’t have to survive the next risky situation, because then the experience of reading about him feels much more genuine.

                I don’t encourage writers to tell the story of “Average Joe”, like I may have implied. I want to see a human being the character—someone who isn’t extraordinary or clairvoyant, but someone who’s also made into an individual by their own unique faults, quirks, and history. This can cover all genres, because I don’t need to connect or see myself in them, like so many other readers claim.  

                 

Review #1 - Fight Club

Everyone's seen the film adaption of "Fight Club". It's easily one of the most recognizable novel-to-film adaptions and represents, to directors, what they need to accomplish to successfully transform a novel into a movie. Several scenes and lines in the film are regarded as some of the most well-done sequences in film making, but there was more than a few scenes from the novel that didn't make the cut.

One of these scenes is when the narrator is originally introduced to Tyler. In the film, they meet on a plane after the narrator has slept, which was done because of the link between Tyler's character and sleep. In the novel, we're introduced to Tyler on a nude beach, where the narrator sits alone and watches Tyler as he arranges a series of logs to create a sculptor. The narrator asks Tyler if he's an artist, after denying this he explains that what he's created was a replica of a giant mechanical hand, and that for one minute the angle of the shadow was absolutely perfectly aligned while he sat in the palm of it. While the scene may have been difficult to do right, I think it would've gone down in history as one of the best sequences in the history of film.

Another scene revolves around an important interaction between Marla and the Narrator. Until Tyler's cast of workers has built up, it's never really explained where he obtains all of the fat to make his soap. In the novel, there's a long scene where it's revealed that Marla's mother is a frequent patient of liposuction, and ships the left-over fat to her daughter so that she can buy collagen injections that will last longer than animal fat. She eventually finds out that Tyler has been stealing the fat to make soap. A long fight ensues, and more depth is poured into Marla's character as a result; we seldom see such a materialistic side of her, and it's refreshing when it does come out.

--Spoiler warning--

Finally, the ending. The one complaint I had with the entire movie. Tyler is a part of the Narrator. I've never been able to understand how the Narrator was able to kill Tyler without killing himself to, especially in the context that it occurred in the movie. The novel had a much more fitting ending where it wasn't required to suspend your disbelief-- the Narrator survives the shot, which only tears open his cheek, and is transported to a mental hospital. Tyler never died, because Tyler can't be killed unless the Narrator is killed as well. If they wanted to defy the ending of the novel, then I would have at least liked to see Tyler survive if the Narrator would as well.

Reflection 5

The first book cover that instantly comes to my mind is the edition of "The Catcher in the Rye" that's famously bloated with some of the most intense motifs from the novel itself. The reason that I find it so memorable isn’t because it necessarily popped out when I first saw it, but because of how cleverly designed it seemed after reading through the book and identifying the individual parts of the cover. What originally seemed to be a few colorful images of menial objects in the book turned out to be a much more significant illustration of some of the book’s most prominent themes, linked together in one image.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that all book covers need to borrow from this business model; book covers follow very few specific credentials, and leave so much room for the artists to get as creative as they want. It doesn’t need to be fraught with the book’s most important symbolic imagery, and in most cases it’s probably better not to, because few will understand it. A visual representation of a single scene can do a book just as much justice as the cover of the Catcher in the Rye, so long as it’s designed to draw people to look at the back. The Catcher's cover designed to be memorable, not to pop out like most covers should.  

Reflection 4 - Film adaptions

Movie adaptions of books have always been subject to much scrutiny to fans of the original novel, as well as critics. The transition from a piece of work that relies largely upon an individual's own interpretation of the story to a piece of work that relies solely upon one person's interpretation is difficult to create, but there has been several note-worthy adaptions that are all deserving of much praise:

1) Fight Club
2) Jarhead
3) The Green Mile
4) Silence of the Lambs
5) The Shining

The reason these five movies have done so well has little to do with the content of the original book. We've seen books that are widely accepted as genius fail as they're turned into film, but the reason for this isn't because the material they were working with was sub-par, it's the fault of the director and the actors. A key component of the movie industry revolves around the originality of a film-- this is absent in adaptions. The plot, the characters, the setting, and key events have all already been imagined and published, but it's the job of the director and the actors to turn this into something else; this has, so to speak, spawned another movie industry, which revolves completely around the abilities of the actors, and the imagination of the director.

These five films did more than re-enact the book, they added another layer to it, something that was impossible to find in the original books. They played the scenes you're familiar with (and occasionally new ones), but they added emotion and new depth in that couldn't have been done without the aid of the director's own immagination and the talent of the actors involved. An old saying exists that says "a picture paints a thousand words", and this is a true statement; the challenge with making an adaption, though, is that these thousand words need to offer a unique and well-crafted prospective of the events that we read.